


and a star is moving somewhere

by philthestone



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, no infinity war spoilers, patently ooc i know, set between vol.2 and infinity war, to accessorize for the end of the world, we're just assuming that he didn't have the wherewithall, yes i KNOW he's not wearing an earring in iw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: It’s a regular uneventful Tuesday when Peter decides that his newest, most pressing priority is to pierce his right earlobe.“Earrings arebadass,” Peter insists to the kitchen at large, waving the spaghetti stirrer at the table housing his assorted family members. “Any self-respecting good-guy rockstar outlaw should have an earring. It’s cool ashell."“The fact that you just called yourself a good-guy rockstar outlaw makes anythin’ and everythin’ you do the anti-thesis of cool,” says Rocket. “Now pass the squishy green stuff, will ya?”





	and a star is moving somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> set between vol2 and infinity war because i keep writing angst if i try to write anything post-iw or pre-vol2 and personally i need fluff in my life.
> 
> also, my biggest beef with all space movies involving pirates is that they never give them earrings. what self-respecting pirate, of the outer space variety or otherwise, doesn't have their ears pierced, i ask
> 
> title is from chris de berg and reviews are peter accessorizing with star-shaped jewelry like a loser

It’s a regular uneventful Tuesday when Peter decides that his newest, most pressing priority is to pierce his right earlobe.

There are many ways to interpret this decision. An impartial observer might assume that it’s a whim, coming to him unprompted and fleeting and strong as any of his other whims, because he is a person to make aesthetic decisions based on emotional impulsivity first and foremost. Someone who knows him slightly better -- Rocket, for example -- might roll his eyes and attribute it to the Gravarian ambassador with the long eyelashes and chiseled biceps who flirted somewhat obviously with a serenely disinterested Gamora, and who had conveniently adorned his ear with an impressively roguish jewel. A more charitable opinion would suggest that he simply likes pretty things -- thank you, Mantis -- or that he has always been one to prioritize little things that bring him and others happiness, regardless of their material usefulness.

(Gamora can be unnaturally perceptive when she so desires). 

Peter himself, with great dignity of posture and spirit, insists that it is none of these things, not a matter of impulsivity nor fragile ego; not his easily-garnered attention and only indirectly his stubborn refusal to be frugal when it comes to things that make him happy; but rather, Peter says --

A conscious addition to his most excellent sense of  _ style _ .

“Earrings are  _ badass _ ,” Peter insists to the kitchen at large, waving the spaghetti stirrer at the table housing his assorted family members. It’s Tuesday night -- markably different from Tuesday morning, whence the encounter with the Gravarian ambassador took place -- and Peter is bringing up his latest Captainly Decision with the team. He waves the stirrer one more time for added emphasis, and a few strands of the purple noodles still stuck to the utensil get flung about.

“You already own multiple necklaces,” protests Drax, pausing in his devoted slurping of soup.

“Will you get over the frickin’ ambassador already,” says Rocket, rolling his eyes.

“And three scarves,” says Drax.

“Perhaps it is an assertion of prowess in a fight,” Mantis suggests reasonably. “Gamora wears earrings.”

“And the unsightly corded bracelets that serve no purpose than to chafe your wrists,” says Drax.

“I am Groot,” says Groot, who is standing on the table, dangerously close to putting his foot into Mantis’s noodle soup.

“None of that is the point,” says Peter, completely undeterred, so firm in his convictions that he appears to no longer have room in his heart for insecurity. Though he is, suspiciously, looking towards Gamora for support. Gamora is using a spoon to sip at her noodle soup with a quiet dignity that is one hundred percent faked, because he knows for a fact that she slurps like a pro along with the rest of them when she thinks no one’s looking. 

At his beseeching look, she makes an expression that Peter decides could be interpreted as either exasperated or pleasantly intrigued. Peter goes with pleasantly intrigued. 

“Any self-respecting good-guy rockstar outlaw,” says Peter with renewed confidence, “should have an earring. It’s cool as  _ hell _ .”

“The fact that you just called yourself a good-guy rockstar outlaw makes anythin’ and everythin’ you do the anti-thesis of cool,” says Rocket. “Now pass the squishy green stuff, will ya?”

“I am Groot!”

“Pass the squishy green stuff  _ please _ , flarkin’  _ jeez _ .”

Peter, who is very slowly learning the art of ignoring his teammates ignoring him, adorns his charming visage (which will look exponentially more charming than it already is once he pierces his ear) with a winning smile, and places his hands on his hips triumphantly.

The remaining spaghetti on the stirrer splats lamely onto his left pant thigh. 

From behind her spoon, which is hovering elegantly over the un-slurped bowl of noodles in front of her, Gamora gives him what he swears is a sympathetic look.

 

Which is why they are where they are right now, sitting on the floor of their bedroom with determined expressions on their faces. 

Well, Peter looks determined. Perhaps a little exaggeratedly so, because he is also a little drunk -- and aren’t all the best decisions really made, he thinks, when one is pleasantly fuzzy in the brain? -- but determined nonetheless. Gamora, as always, looks stunningly breathtakingly beautiful, and, bless her, has attempted to school her expression into one that silently communicates spousal support.

Not that they’re married. Yet. Or -- yet? Getting married would be amazing, Peter thinks. It’s like, I love you and I want to hang out with you for the rest of forever, because you’re my best friend and also super hot. Maybe that should be the next thing they discuss, after Peter gets his ear pierced and they make out for an hour to celebrate how awesome they are at piercing ears and being badass.

Which, right,  _ yes _ . Focus, Peter.

“Okay,” says Peter -- as mentioned, looking very determinedly at the opposing wall, against which are stacked his old box of Miscellaneous Shit and a couple pairs of boots. He tugs a little bit at his t-shirt; the hem keeps riding up a little every time his back shifts against the edge of the bed where Gamora is perched. “Do it.”

“Which ear,” says Gamora practically, holding in one hand the big-ass needle Drax uses to darn their socks and in the other a wadded-up old t-shirt, for pressure purposes. Her hair is tied up at the top of her head, which she only does when she’s concentrating on an important task that can’t be disrupted by hair. The needle has been responsibly dipped in the rocket fuel that Peter had decided earlier tonight to sample from, back in the chaotic bar where the rest of the team is taking a well-deserved break from the mortal-peril-filled lifestyle they called work, and Peter is  _ pretty _ sure the t-shirt is clean. Maybe a bit hole-ridden, but ninety-percent likely to have been unworn since last time it was laundered.

It’s Wednesday -- a day after Tuesday -- because Peter has never been one to truly think most of his daily decisions through.

Peter, who is holding the bottle of blue whatever-the-hell-it’s-burning-his-tongue-just-a-little-and-also-hopefully-sterilized-the-darning-needle between his legs, grins confidently and says, 

“ _ Right _ . Duh.”

This is not a  _ duh _ that is based on any empirical evidence. Gamora does not seem to mind.

Instead, she smiles, because she is the best. She has also agreed to pierce his ear for him, which makes her doubly the best, as Peter realized roughly thirty minutes ago, after returning from the bar and standing adrift in their bedroom for thirty seconds holding an old switchblade and thinking,  _ Okay, this is definitely not a smart plan _ , that he did not have the first clue as to how to pierce an ear.

Gamora does know how to pierce ears. Not because her own ears are pierced -- though she did pierce them herself and it was very easy, she had once told Peter, before he very romantically went out and bought her the single pair of earrings she owns -- but because she has extensive experience wielding needles as weapons.

She takes his right lobe in her fingers, presses the t-shirt against the front such that it rubs softly over his cheek, and then pauses.

“Peter,” she says, and Peter says,

“Yep?” Only slightly slurred.

“My -- pain tolerance. Is slightly different from yours.”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure,” says Gamora, “that you don’t need ice.”

Peter, who will later admit to being a huge dumbass, says, “No, I can take it!” in a voice far too loud for the small space of their bedroom and far too confident for what is about to happen next.

“Okay,” says Gamora, and sticks the needle through his earlobe.

Peter cannot, in fact, take it.

 

“Un-frickin’-believable,” says a voice, somewhere above the vicinity of Peter’s nose. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s above his nose. For some reason he feels like he’s forgotten the position of most of his facial appendages, probably because the entire right half of his face is numb. Also, something twiggy keeps poking the back of his head.

Oh boy.

“Gamora has done a masterful job,” comes Drax’s voice.

“Thank you.” 

“Shut up, Drax.” Rocket, again, once more from somewhere close to Peter’s general facial region. “Don’t  _ encourage  _ them.”

Peter cracks his eyes open. Everything is way too bright, and also his head is throbbing, and he’s -- really short? Wait, no. He’s on the floor.

“Unnng,” says Peter. He is always incredibly eloquent when hungover.

Something pokes his head again. “I am Groot.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” says Rocket, whose furry face Peter can now see is closer to the vicinity of his eyebrows. “So you really went and did it, huh?”

Peter, who appears to be lying on his back, blinks owlishly, which feels weird, because he still can’t feel half of his face. Slowly, he brings his hand up to touch his ear.

“Huh,” he says.

“ _ Huh _ ,” agrees Rocket, hovering over him. Gamora is also hovering, her position somewhere on Rocket’s left, wringing her hands slightly; Drax is to her left, and Mantis to his.

“I am Groot,” says Groot, and pokes the back of Peter’s head again.

“Gamora thought she killed you,” Rocket informs him, looking far too delighted by this.

“Yes,” agrees Drax. “She called us all back from our most excellent festivities because you were bleeding everywhere and yelling like an elder Badoon woman who had misplaced her undergarments.”

Gamora makes a small noise, that is not so much a noise as it is the implication of a noise, and pinches her lips together.

“Oh,” Peter tells her, a little dumbly, “I’m okay.” 

“You have blood all over your neck,” Mantis informs him, looking concerned.

“It is, indeed, bad ass,” says Drax. “You were correct in your original assessment.”

“Yeah,  _ so  _ badass,” says Rocket, snickering, “seein’ as how we had to stick you full of anaesthesia to get you to shut up an’ now half your face ain’t workin’.”

Gamora, who is looking radiant as always save the lone dot of blood on her exposed collarbone, makes a complicated face. She’s missing one of her earrings.

“I panicked,” she says.

“‘S’okay,” says Peter, half of his mouth feeling floppy. He looks down at himself, registering only now that he is not wearing a shirt, and that one of his pecs and his left ribs are stained blue -- is he lying in a puddle of alcohol? -- and that the rest of him is covered in speckles of dried earlobe blood.

He pokes his ear again. The earring, which is definitely the same one Gamora is missing, feels a little crusty, but definitely there.

“Huh,” says Peter again.

“Oh, no,” says Rocket.

“ _ Huh _ ,” repeats Peter, starting to grin.

“I’m leaving,” Rocket announces.

“ _ Huh _ ,” says Peter a third time, looking like a moron because only half of his face is participating in his huge and delighted smile, and looks at Gamora.

Gamora smiles back at him, looking a little relieved, and tucks her loose hair, which has fallen majestically out of its ponytail, behind her earring-wearing ear.

“I like it,” she says.

Which, really, is all that matters. 

Take  _ that _ , Gravarian ambassador.

**Author's Note:**

> the headcanon that peter bought gamora her only pair of earrings originates from @enigma731, but i'm partial to it; she never wore any in vol1, but then since vol2 she's been wearing that one pair of purple stone studs and nothing else and not to objectively state an opinion but peter definitely got them for her


End file.
